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Spotlight on “Forever and Always” in Love’s Perilous Road

Forever and Always in Love’s Perilous Road

By Rue Allyn

Lord Fontus Leigh secretly wed a stranger to protect her, then she left him with no way to find her. Years later, he is desperate to discover her whereabouts. His family has arranged another match for him, but he already has a wife. Unless the marriage was annulled as she promised.

Out of options, Lady Deoiridh Aitken narrowly escaped marriage to a cruel fortune hunter by means of wedding a complete stranger. She swore her husband to secrecy before she left, believing everyone would be safer if no one knew where she was. The plan worked perfectly, until now.

Meet Fontus

Youngest of ten brothers, Lord Fontus Leigh left England as a callow youth suspected of murder. Now an arranged marriage gives him a chance to clear his name and restore his reputation. Even though his prospective bride hates him, Fontus would marry her—if only he were not already wed.

Meet Dee

Lady Deoiridh Aitken grew up in the Bourbon court in exile. When a cruel fortune hunter pursued her, she fled and married a total stranger, promising an annulment once she was safe. But evil continues to hunt her, and she is forced to recognize the saving power of love.

An Excerpt from Forever and Always

She aimed in the direction of her new friend. Halfway there, Frobbin blocked her path.

“What do you want?” She wished she could give him the cut direct.

“I must speak with you privately.”

“I do not care to converse with you, sir. Nothing you can say is of any interest to me.” She used her iciest tone.

He arched a brow. “Not even if it concerns your mother?”

Dee lifted her chin and sniffed. “My mother is asleep with a sick headache and is no concern of yours.”

Hands clasped behind his back, Frobbin rocked back and forth on his heels. “Really? Did you see her?”

“She is asleep, so of course I did not disturb her.”

“Hmm. Perhaps you can explain a mystery for me.”

“I tire of whatever game you play. Get to the point, so I may speak with someone else.” 

“I play no game. However, since you are so certain of your mother’s location, maybe you can explain this note she wanted me to give you.”

Without thinking, Dee took the offered slip of paper, unfolded it, and read.

Daughter, please do not do as this canaille asks. He dares not carry out his threats. Deny him, and I will be fine.”

 Beside her mother’s signature, in very tiny script of an ancient style were the words Neart agus Faireachadh, war cry of the Aitken clan in her father’s native tongue. Strength and Vigilance. Few people from other nations could translate the ancient Scots language, let alone the particular dialect used here. Hence, her father had established it as a way of verifying that any message was truly from family. 

“I am surprised that you permitted my mother to write such a note.”

Barbeau shrugged. “I care only that you understand she is myguest at a location I shall disclose later. You may of course do as she asks and ignore my warning.”

“You made no threat.”

“Immediately after the ladies leave the table, you must excuse yourself.”

“On what grounds?”

“I don’t care what lie you create.” He snarled the words despite the smile he kept on his face. 

“So, you wish to make a liar of me as well as a slave.”

“Take care, Lady Deoiridh. I will soon be your husband. You will not wish to test my patience. Having excused yourself, get a cloak and bonnet. Steal one from the maids if you must, but do not return to your room. My associates among the footmen will tell me should you deviate from my instructions. Leave the house by a side door and make your way to the front gate. Stay within the shadow of the trees lining the drive. No one must know you left or suspect that anyone has gone from the house. I will meet you at the gate and take you to our destination. Bring nothing. I will provide everything you need once we are married.”

Dee laughed. “You honestly believe you can coerce me into marriage.”

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Spotlight on “Love by Moonlight” in Love’s Perilous Road

Love by Moonlight in Love’s Perilous Road

By Elizabeth Ellen Carter

By daylight, he’s a gentleman. By moonlight, justice is served.

 In the quiet village of Normanton in the autumn of 1817, Captain Robin Somerville returns from naval service to find peace elusive. By day, he’s a charming second son living at his brother’s estate. By night, he becomes the enigmatic Captain Moonlight—a highwayman with a code of honor, redressing wrongs in secret. When Rachel Pendleton, the curate’s daughter, begins to suspect his dual identity, her heart must weigh law against love. As romance blossoms amid secrets and schemes, a shared pursuit of justice could cost them everything.

Meet Rachel Pendleton

Daughter of the village curate, Rachel Pendleton is intelligent, empathetic, and deeply principled. She dedicates her days to caring for her community and guarding her heart, yet she harbors feelings for the dashing Robin Somerville that stretch back years. Suspicious of his connection to the noble but illicit Captain Moonlight, Rachel is torn between her admiration for his courage and her fear of scandal. With a sharp mind and quiet strength, she becomes an equal partner in both love and moral reckoning, proving that true bravery often blooms under moonlight.

Meet Captain Robin Somerville

A naval officer recently returned from war, Captain Robin Somerville is charming, clever, and quietly restless. As the second son of a baronet, he has little expectation placed on him, but great ambition to find purpose. Disguised as the mysterious “Captain Moonlight,” he secretly rights the wrongs of their Sussex village by humiliating cheats and helping the downtrodden. Beneath his easy smile lies a man yearning for justice and love. His affections for Rachel Pendleton, the curate’s daughter, challenge his carefully built disguise and force him to consider a life of hearth and heart, rather than duty and danger.

An excerpt from Love by Moonlight

“Have you time for a walk, Miss Pendelton?”

She paused a moment and regarded him intently.

“Have you come to ask me to purloin another key for you? If so, I shall have to decline. These things have a habit to ending up in the wrong hands.”

The corner of Robin’s mouth lifted in a cockeyed smile. “The wrong hands, you say? Heavens, that will never do. What is this good borough coming to if a man cannot come to church without his seeing his unmentionables flapping in the breeze.”

Rachel found her tongue planted in her cheek to prevent a smile. “Indeed.”

She searched his face looking for the truth and found herself taking in the shape of his jaw, the line of his lips and then into his soft blue eyes.

The look he offered her in return was no less intense.

Would he bring her into his confidence?

Rachel held her breath a moment.

His eyes never left hers and she felt the slight brush of his fingers run down her arm to her hand, caressing each finger before threading his fingers through hers.

Part of her mind clamoured danger. She should not entertain thoughts about his good looks or risk her heart to someone whose social standing was far above her own. Yet she did not object as they walked hand-in-hand around the church grounds.

A neatly tended cemetery with weathered headstones attested to the age of the village – named for the very Normans that stepped on the shore not so far from here. Her father personally oversaw the gardens. Pretty little flowers in white, pink and purple neatly tended amongst soft greens of the grass and the tall yew trees that bounded the graveyard.

Lengthening shadows were a testament to the lateness of the day.

That still, small warning voice that had tried to warn her was soon quieted by the conversation which flowed effortlessly between them. She spoke of her visits to families in the parish and Robin shared Penelope’s plans for the summer house party.

“In truth I was glad to get out from under foot,” he concluded.

Rachel squeezed his hand softly. Her heart went out to him. It mustn’t be easy for a man of action to return to a life of genteel civility.

“You miss your time at sea, don’t you?”

She received a shrug in reply.

“Would you go back into the navy?”

There was silence and Rachel wondered whether it would be another question that would remain unanswered. They stopped at a tree at the corner of the churchyard. Some yards away was a two-storey cottage; modest, but well kept. But here they were not overlooked by it.

“No, I think not,” Robin answered. “That part of my life is over.”

 

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A change is as good as a rest in WIP Wednesday

In Maggie’s Wheelbarrow, which is my contribution to Merry Belles, the next Bluestocking Belles Christmas Collection, my heroine takes a job at a house party.

The hope of soon being reunited with Will, or at least reaching his mother, had kept Maggie moving along the winding roads from Portsmouth to the first village of Ashton in the Midlands. When that proved to be the wrong place, she changed her strategy. Winter was coming. Even now, the heat was gone from the long evenings as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. If she had to find lodgings for herself and the children during the winter, then she must make more than the few coins she had picked up on her way north.

Having made the decision between one village and the next, she put it into practice at the first opportunity, asking at both inns and the three major houses if there was any work available.

One of the inns took her on to clean rooms and empty slop pails. For one week, she told them. After that, she said, she must be off once more on her search. With Eva on her back and Billy tagging behind, she managed the heavy work with ease, and a week later set off the next Ashton with several more shillings in her purse and a warmer coat for each child to keep them comfortable in the sometimes-cold wind.

The second Ashton was as disappointing as the first, but Maggie got two night’s work at the inn, and moved on the third. Thus it went through the autumn and on into early winter. When the snow came, she would have to be settled, but meanwhile, she moved from village to village, stopping to work whenever her money ran low, and at every village called Ashton or something similar, asking for the Parker family. All to no avail.

She was between Ashtons in early December when, on the strength of a stint as a maid at yet another inn, she was offered temporary work at the local great house, where they needed extra servants during a house party. At first, she thought she’d have to turn the job down, though the wages were excellent. But another woman overheard her telling the hiring steward about her children.

“I reckon they could stay with Ma,” she said. “She’s looking after me own young uns, while I earn a few coins, so two more wouldn’t matter to her none, and she could do with the pennies.” The woman introduced herself as Frannie, and offered to take Maggie to visit “Ma” immediately.

“If she could put you up at night,” said the steward, “I shall add two shillings a day to the wages, for where I could find you a bed, I do not know. Mind you, you’ll have to be at your post by five in the morning, and will not be home until after the guests have had their dinner.”

Frannie’s mother proved to be a kind woman whom Eva took to straight away, and the other children were twins of Billy’s age, so Maggie went off to work the following morning with a light heart. If she saw out the two weeks of the house party, she would earn the princely sum of eighteen shillings! Four shillings of that would go Frannie’s mother, but fourteen shillings would feed her little family for weeks, if she was careful.

It was hard work, but in some ways, it was also a holiday. No walking for hours with Eva on her back and the wheelbarrow before her. No need to find dry spaces through the day to feed the children or to change a wet clout. And she enjoyed the walks with Frannie in the pre-dawn quiet and the velvet dark of the late evening.

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Spotlight on “Charred Hope” in Love’s Perilous Road

 

Charred Hope, by Caroline Warfield

Major Titus Brannock believes the charred painting that he had tossed into his trunk might be valuable to its owner. With the wars over, he lives with his brother, the earl, and has little direction in his life. He decides to track the woman down and return her miniature.

Tessa Fleming’s late husband lost interest in her soon after the first fires of marriage faded. She followed the army across Spain anyway. Now she lives in a small cottage and supports her son with a widow’s pension. She is determined not to trust another man, certainly not a stranger that knocks on her door.

Will a stranger’s kindness rekindle hope? Perhaps Titus has found his lost purpose in the bargain.

The Hero

Titus Flavius Brannock is the younger son an earl. Like many younger sons, he took a military career, and much prefers Major Brannock as a form of address over “The Honorable Titus Brannock,” the former being rightly earned. With the wars over, he haunts the family home at loose ends and without purpose. He decides impulsively to seek out a war widow he barely remembers and return a damaged miniature that came into his possession during the war.

The Heroine

Tessa Reynolds Fleming grew up in a cold manor in Lincolnshire with stern parents and little joy. Her father, Baron Wolfecliff, disowned her when she ran off to marry a junior officer with nothing to his name. When her husband died, the old man informed her she wasn’t welcome home and could expect nothing. Left with only her widow’s pension, she manages somehow for herself and her son in a small cottage in the South Downs.

An Excerpt from Charred Hope

He knocked again. She ignored him again. The third knock was louder.

When she didn’t respond, a deep voice rumbled through the door, “Mrs. Fleming, I don’t know if you are in there or not, but I mean you no harm.”

So you say… “What do you want?” she demanded through the door.

“I— That is, I knew Lieutenant Fleming in Spain. I brought you something.”

After a moment she lifted the bar, unable to imagine who it could be. She’d heard from none of Rob’s colleagues in the years since she came here.

“Who are you?” she asked through a narrow crack.

“Titus Brannock,” he replied.

The name meant nothing to her, but something in the gentle voice that vibrated through her reassured her. She opened the door a bit wider. “I don’t know you. Again, what do you want?”

The tall stranger, hat in hand, gazed down at her with eyes the rusty brown color of oak leaves in winter. A shaft of sunlight splashed his brown hair with chestnut highlights. She held her breath.

“It is something of yours that came into my possession when you shipped home. It may be a trifle, but I think you might want it.” His voice wrapped around her like a warm quilt, a treasure she hadn’t had since her grandmother’s passing.

Don’t be a ninny Tessa, you know better than to go soft over a man. She held her ground.

“I’ve come a long way to bring it, and I have a long way home,” he went on. She thought he sounded hopeful.

She opened the door to face him, but if he thought she would invite him in, he was mistaken. She stepped out and pulled the door behind her. “I’m not in the habit of entertaining strangers, but you may leave this ‘trifle’ with me and be on your way,” she said.

He studied her long and hard as if she were a mystery to solve. It took strength but she met that piercing gaze. She peered back up at him experiencing a flicker of recognition, one that wouldn’t come into focus.

This one is a soldier for certain. It is in his bearing. In his confident determination. He wasn’t dressed like one; he wasn’t dressed like a poor man either.

At last, he nodded and tapped his hat back on his head. He reached into his fashionably tailored coat and pulled out an object wrapped in dark cloth and held it out to her.

When she took it, their hands touched briefly, and a jolt of feeling went up her arm to lodge somewhere in her center. She yanked her hand away.

At her gesture his lips quirked and he touched his hat. “I’ll leave you in peace. If you have questions for me, I’ll be at the inn in Normanton the rest of today. I’m leaving tomorrow.” He turned and left her murmuring belated thanks.

Tessa took the object to her kitchen table and unwrapped it. What she saw made her throat thicken. Tears, unanticipated and unwelcome, overtook her.

The miniature. The one I had made for Rob. The one he tossed aside so carelessly. As he did me.

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A Bow Street Runner in WIP Wednesday

Some of the Bluestocking Belles’ more complicated box sets have had not just a common setting or event, but a bit of a puzzle – Who is sending gossip to the Teatime Tattler? (Storm and Shelter) Whose baby is the orphan with the amulet belonging in the village, delivered by a travelling couple who found him in France. (Under the Harvest Moon) And the one coming up, Love’s Perilous Road, in which the overarching question is, who is the highwayman?

Of course, that sets up a question about how to order the stories so we don’t let the cat out of the bag too soon! I hope, when you read our ten stories, that you’ll agree with the order we have chosen.

Of course, people in our stories were also asking that question, and one of them was Principal Officer Robert Pierce, sent by the Office of the Magistrate’s Court, Bow Street, London. My Bow Street runner’s case book forms a little vignette between each story, as he writes his thoughts about the events of the day, consigning his frustrations and sometimes his successes to paper, for his own eyes only. And yours, dear reader. Here is Casebook entry number 4.

The Casebook of Principal Officer Robert Pierce

The Office of the Magistrates’ Court, Bow Street, London

The clue of the trousers on the church steeple led nowhere. No one knows who put the trousers up there, and the curate swears he was the only man with a key. The locals are protective of “their” Captain Moonlight, but there will be a break soon. I am certain of it. Everyone makes a mistake sometime.

The second highwayman robbed another coach. Had ladies not been present, I am certain the man would have been shot, for the ladies were accompanied by some very competent gentlemen. It is a risky business, being a highwayman without a gang.

I am getting closer to Larcenous Lucy! Word has it she has been active in Brighton itself, so I am heading there in the morning.

If you’d like to know more about Robert, the trousers on the steeple, the two highwaymen (and possibly a third), Larcenous Lucy, smugglers, a ghost, a blackmailer, Fennians, and more – not to mention ten delightful romances, read Love’s Perilous Road, now on preorder, and published October 31st.

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Spotlight on ‘Falling Into You’ in Love’s Perilous Road

Lord Milton Sutton, Earl of Langley has one regret in life… that he left behind a lady that owned his heart in order to take over his father’s businesses to prevent bankruptcy. One year later, he has a second chance to win her back but is he too late?

Lady Josephine Cranfield is determined to move on with her life after her heart was broken by the love of her life. But her feelings for Milton awaken upon his return and his eagerness to pick up where they left off only makes her resolved to forget him.

Can Milton and Josephine find a way back to one another or will someone else find his way into Josephine’s heart?

Buy Love’s Perilous Road. Preorder price 99c. Published October 31st

Meet Josephine

Lady Josephine Cranfield is determined to move on with her life after her heart was broken by the love of her life. But her feelings for Milton awaken upon his return and his eagerness to pick up where they left off only makes her resolved to forget him.

Meet Milton

Lord Milton Sutton, Earl of Langley has one regret in life… that he left behind a lady that owned his heart in order to take over his father’s businesses to prevent bankruptcy. One year later, he has a second chance to win her back but is he too late?

Excerpt from Falling Into You

“You’re very early, Philip. Is something wrong?” she declared before she came to a sudden halt. She took hold of the doorframe to steady herself, afraid that her knees might buckle when she witnessed the gentleman standing near the window.

He turned to face her with the sun streaming through the glass to make him appear almost angelic. She drank in the sight of him as though she was dying of thirst. The cut of his suit and waistcoat was immaculate. His dark brown hair streaked with lighter shades was neatly combed into place and touched the edges of his coat. His skin appeared tanned from time spent in the sun and he appeared far more muscular than she remembered. His linen shirt seemed to stretch across his muscled chest while his blue eyes seemingly danced in delight to see her. She just might swoon.

“Hello, Josephine” he said giving her a bow. The old memory of his husky baritone branded her heart with sorrow as all the old hurt came rushing back to the surface.

“Milton…” she began, attempting to find her voice. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I know this is highly irregular but I had to see you,” he said stepping forward.

“Why?” she gasped out as her knees began to shake and she had the overwhelming need to sit down.

The sound of the tea trolley being rolled through the hallway gave her the moment she needed to clear her head and compose herself. She went into the room and sat in a chair near the hearth knowing to sit on the couch would allow him to be far too close. Once the servant put the trolley near at hand, she poured tea into two cups and offered him one as he took the opposite chair. He reached for the one she held out for him, and when their fingers touched, a zing of emotion overcame her. It wasn’t fair that he could still have such an effect on her after all this time. It wasn’t fair at all!

He continued to stare at her, searching her face for some sign of… what? That she was still in love with him? She couldn’t be certain but what did it matter if she still cared for this man? He was her past, and Philip was her future.

“You were one of the first people I wanted to see upon my return,” he confessed, setting down his tea without taking a sip.

“Oh? And who was the first?” she said in a snippy tone.

A slight chuckle left those lips she remembered all too well, having kissed them a dozen times or more. “Your brother,” he finally answered.

“I see. Considering your friendship all your lives, I can see how you might have missed him.”

“And you.”

She raised a brow at his admission. “I don’t see why you’d have missed me, Milton. After all, it was you who ended our association.”

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Tourism, Georgian style

I’m working on three different books at the moment, and all of my protagonists are travelling. As always, this means some work calculating differences and the speed of different types of conveyance. I thought I’d look for a video on that for you, but selected this one instead. It’s a bit of fun, and full of information. The visuals are gorgeous, too.

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Happy reunion in WIP Wednesday

Another reunion in An Unpitied Sacrifice, this time for one of Valeria’s abandoned war brides. A letter arrives from the army, giving the addresses for the missing husbands next-of-kin, and one of them is in London.

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“It is a twenty-minute drive,” Harry told them. “If the Atkinsons are still butchers in Cheapside, Señora Hernandez, you shall soon have your answers.”

“It was a family business, Colonel. I think the family will still be there. I hope so. We were separated when the army invaded France. Jorge and I were with the regiment’s baggage train, crossing a river on a bridge made of boats. The bridge broke apart, and the boat we were in was swept downriver.”

She shrugged and grimaced, a silent and somehow comprehensive commentary on the vicissitudes of war. “We survived, but we did not come ashore for many miles, and in the end, we were still on the Spanish side of the river, and far from anyone who knew us. And I was ill, and winter was coming. There was a convent offering beds to those who were displaced by the war. Jorge and I owe our lives to them.”

Valeria had heard the story before. Maria-Lucia had been pregnant when the pontoon bridge collapsed under the pressure of a storm-surging river. She and Jorge had parted company with their boat at some point in the wild ride. Somehow, the mother had kept the child above water, at least enough that when the pair of them finally made it to shore, Jorge was still with her and alive.

Maria-Lucia, though, had borne the brunt of blows from storm-rack travelling downriver with her, and had gone into labour, losing a tiny daughter who had been too little to survive. She did not remember much after that. Nuns from the convent must have found her and her son, and given them refuge.

By the time Maria-Lucia had been well enough to write to George Atkinson, and had been able to scrounge paper and enough money to send a letter, the war had been over. Whether her letter ever reached the army was questionable. It was even more unlikely that George had received it, especially given today’s revelation, that he had left the army.

Valeria had personal experience of the disinterest of British army clerks in the foreign wives of British soldiers, particularly those whose relationships had not been through the formality of a Church of England wedding.

The carriage was drawing to a halt outside of a butcher’s shop, the entire face of which, except for the opening into the interior, was covered with animal carcasses hanging on hooks. Above the display of meat, the name Atkinson Bros., in bright red against a light green background, spread the full width of the shop.

“Atkinson Brothers,” Harry commented. “Perhaps George has gone into the trade with his brother.”

Now that the time was upon her, Maria-Lucia descended reluctantly from the carriage, and immediately reached for Valeria’s hand. “What if they do not want me?” she asked.

“Then we shall find a place for you and Jorge on our estate,” Harry said firmly. “If that is what you wish. Or we shall send you back to Spain with money to set up somewhere as a widow.”

“Let us find out,” Valeria said, and she led the way under the animal carcasses and into the shop.

As her eyes adjusted to the change in light, Maria-Lucia gasped and gripped her hand more tightly, peering at the man behind the counter. “You are not George,” she declared after a moment.

The man stared back, his eyes widening, and then he stepped back from the counter and lifted a curtain behind it to disclose a doorway. “George!” he shouted into the space beyond.

Turning back toward them, his gaze fixed again on Maria-Lucia, he said, “He’s upstairs.”

Upstairs, but coming down, for Valeria could hear the thud of boots on wood, descending from the floor above and approaching.

The curtain was pulled back from the other side and another man stepped into the shop. He was very similar in appearance to the first man, and Valeria could see why Maria-Lucia had gasped. But it was obvious neither the second man nor her friend had any doubt about the identification of the other.

George—for it had to be he—vaulted over the counter even as Maria-Lucia dropped Valeria’s hand and threw herself forward, saying, “George!” Then they were in one another’s arms, Maria-Lucia repeating her man’s name, and he saying, over and over, “I thought you were dead. They told me you had drowned.”

The first man, presumably the brother William, watched the embrace with a fond smile, and Valeria’s worry for her friend eased. Maria-Lucia had found the welcome she had hoped for.

By the time the pair had calmed enough to share their stories, William had introduced himself to Harry and Valeria, put a “Back in ten minutes” sign up on the door, and called back up the stairs for his wife. Soon, Maria-Lucia was being introduced to a plump cheerful woman called Molly, and then the whole story of being saved from the river and what happened after had to be told again.

The upshot was that George came back to Harry and Valeria’s house in the Redepenning carriage, with his brother’s blessing to retrieve his family and bring them to the residence above the butcher’s shop.

“Bring back our nephew, brother,” William instructed, “and all of our sister’s things. What a happy day this is!”

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Tea with Valeria

In this excerpt post, Valeria goes to Haverford House for a ball, and meets the Dowager Duchess of Haverford.

Haverford House was on the riverfront out beyond Chelsea. Susan and her husband Gil called by in their carriage to pick them up, and the long drive gave Susan plenty of time to describe people who would definitely be at the ball, and others who might be there.

“Will there be a test?” Harry asked his sister.

Susan grinned. “The ball is the test, you sceptic. And Valeria will pass it with flying colours. Look, Valeria, we are turning in at the gate. Isn’t the house a magnificent sight?”

It was. They had driven into a courtyard lined on three sides by a veritable palace—four stories high, with a mansard roof above. Since the courtyard was about one hundred and fifty feet across and at least one hundred feet deep, the house was enormous.

They were in a queue of carriages, and it took quite some time before it was their driver’s turn to pull up at the foot of the steps to deliver his passengers. Soon, though, they were being conducted through a marble entrance chamber the height of the house, up a splendid staircase, and to the left down an elegant corridor, between half-panelled walls with silk wallpaper above.

All four of them could have walked arm in arm along the exquisite carpet without touching the furniture and art that lined both sides between a succession of highly polished doors.

The corridor turned to the right, and continued, so the house had at least one more wing, this one leading away from the road. Another ten paces brought them to the reception line.

“Susan, my dear.” The mature lady at the head of the line held out both hands to greet Susan. She wore a glittering gown and a parure of tiara, earrings and necklace that sparkled even more brightly than the garment.

“Aunt Eleanor, you look amazing tonight. Does she not, Charlotte, darling? Ladies, may I make known to you my sister-in-law, Mrs Harry Redepenning? Valeria, Her Grace the dowager duchess was a dear friend of my mother, and is my godmother and Harry’s, and these are the Duchess and Duke of Haverford. Haverford, my sister-in-law.”

The younger duchess was as finely dressed as her mother-in-law, but her smile was warm and open. “Mrs Redepenning, my husband is Lord Chirbury’s cousin, and his wife and I are friends. I have heard a little about your story. Your reunion—so romantic. I promise you my support as you find your feet in our Society.”

“To that end, Señora,” drawled the duke, “may I beg the pleasure of the second dance of the evening?” His half-bow to Harry had a mocking flourish. “I defer to you for the first, Harry.”

Harry managed an even more sardonic bow. “Very good of you, Haverford. Given you are renowned for always dancing the first and last of the evening with your lovely duchess. Mind you, Valeria, they’ve been married for less than a year.”

The duke lifted his wife’s hand to his lips. “I trust we shall still maintain the practice when we have been wed forty years,” he declared. “Longer, if we are spared, and I can still totter around a ballroom.”

“I shall push you in your bath chair, Anthony,” declared the duchess. “Jessica, allow me introduce Mrs Redepenning, Colonel Redepenning’s wife. Mrs Redepenning, my sister, Lady Colyton, and her husband Lord Colyton. This ball is in honour of their wedding. Lord Colyton, Mrs Redepenning has recently been reunited with her husband, Colonel Redepenning. And you already know Lord and Lady Rutledge, of course.”

Valeria expressed her best wishes to the bride and her congratulations to the groom, following the English custom that Susan had explained to her in the carriage. Lady Colyton thanked her prettily and wished her and Harry every blessing now that they were back together. She was a pretty woman, much younger than her brother, the Duke of Haverford. Her husband was perhaps a decade older than his bride, and was polite, but not warm.

“We shall move on and let you greet your other guests,” Susan decreed.